Mofuku
by Umeko Tsumagoi
Summary: A black jacket, black slacks, and a black tie. Combined with the somber tones in the boy's expression, there was no doubt in Kuzuryu's mind. Mofuku—mourning attire. (DR3 spoilers in epilogue)
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:** It's the last day of Heisei, and after going for so long without updating anything, I wanted to at least post one more fic to close out the era!

I also wanted to post something to thank the wonderful folks at the kuzuhina discord server™ (all, like, four of you) for keeping my spirits up while I was hospitalized this past week. :D

So here is the culmination of my lingering saltiness over Hinata and Kuzuryu not interacting at all in DR3, haha.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Mofuku**

"What the _fuck_ do you mean they're on our turf?!"

Kuzuryu's phone threatened to slip from his fingers as he ran through the pouring rain, and he stopped just briefly to adjust his grip before exiting campus through the south gate.

"Of _course _I'm still at school, fuckass!" he shouted at the poor flunkey tasked with calling him. "Send a car over if you want me to get there!"

As his feet pounded along the sidewalk, muffled sounds of attempts to send the young master a car buzzing in his ear, Kuzuryu let his eyes sweep the surroundings. He needed to find somewhere off-campus where he could wait for his ride, shielded from the rain.

Kuzuryu _knew _he had brought an umbrella with him to school that day. He _had_ to have; he wasn't so stupid that he'd go without one in late May. But it was gone when it had come time to leave, which meant that _some_ dumbass in his class must have nabbed it.

Fortunately, there were very few suspects—the only others to attend class that day had been Tsumiki, Souda, and Sonia. And going purely by their personalities, Kuzuryu had a pretty good idea who it had been.

Only Kazuichi Souda could be _such a fucking moron_ to think of _stealing from the fucking yakuza_.

Sighing, Kuzuryu continued to search for somewhere to hang out for a few minutes. Unfortunately, most of the area surrounding the south quarter was pretty barren, as if the Hope's Peak facilities were a leech that had sapped the life out of whatever surrounding businesses had been there previously. He wasn't about to trespass into a condemned building just to hide from a little rain, so he continued along the sidewalk hoping to find something else soon.

Finally he spotted a park through the rain and, with a grateful last burst of speed, he dashed underneath the small pavilion on the park's edge, just vaguely cognizant of a second presence there.

"You're sending someone now?" he gasped into the phone as he tried to wipe the water from his brows. "Great, I'm at—um—some park across from campus. On the southwest side. I'll keep an eye out. Now hurry up before I catch a fucking cold!"

Kuzuryu ended the call and shoved his phone back in his pocket, pulling out his handkerchief in its place—which was completely soaked through. Of course. Grumbling, he tried using it to dry himself off anyway, to no avail.

"Uh... here," came a voice to his left, and in his peripheral vision Kuzuryu saw a hand offering a deep-blue handkerchief. "You can use this, if you want. It's a little damp, but it's at least in better shape than yours, so..."

Kuzuryu hesitated, but deciding that anything would be preferable to constantly blinking away the raindrops clinging to his eyelashes, he accepted. "Thanks," he muttered, taking the cloth—patterned with white cherry blossoms, he noticed—and patted down his face. "Someone steal your umbrella, too?" he said conversationally—and damn, it was fucking weird to be smelling some stranger's scent on that handkerchief, but at least he didn't have rainwater streaming down his face anymore.

"Ah, um... yeah, actually. I've been waiting here for the rain to let up, but it's only gotten stronger..."

Kuzuryu scoffed. "People are assholes. It's their own damn fault if they forgot their umbrella this time of year, that's no reason to..." He trailed off as he turned to return the handkerchief to the stranger, finally taking note of his appearance.

He was a tall kid, about Kuzuryu's age, with dark, spiky hair. What he was wearing, though...

A black jacket, black slacks, and a black tie. Combined with the somber tones in the boy's expression, there was no doubt in Kuzuryu's mind.

Mofuku—mourning attire.

He'd seen it plenty in his line of work. Far too often, he'd been the cause of it.

Kuzuryu looked away awkwardly, his fist tightening around the handkerchief as he stared instead at the hydrangea plants surrounding the pavilion, blues and purples just beginning to bleed into the edges of the young green blossoms. At length, he finally found his voice.

"Sorry for your loss."

The boy didn't react at first, but after a few seconds he turned to look at Kuzuryu, confusion evident in his expression, as if he wasn't certain he was the one being spoken to. Kuzuryu jerked his head in the direction of the boy's torso, indicating the black outfit, and understanding slowly dawned upon the brunet's face.

"Oh," he said, then opened his mouth to continue, but seemed to think better of it and kept silent, opting instead to shrug uncomfortably.

Silence fell between the boys again, broken only by the white static of raindrops upon the rooftop overhead.

"So who are you mourning?" Kuzuryu finally said. "If you don't mind me asking."

The dark-haired boy furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side, as if carefully considering his answer. "My future, I guess."

"Your future?" Kuzuryu echoed incredulously before he could help himself. He wasn't one to knock others' choices, but why would someone bother _wearing mofuku_ for such an abstract concept? And besides, "Why've you gotta mourn that?"

"Because... there's just not anywhere I can go from here, I guess," the boy muttered, looking down with distaste at the damp cuffs of his jacket. "I've accepted mediocrity. Even if I do see success from this, all I've done is bought into name recognition. What's the point of that?"

God, what a gloomy guy. Kuzuryu had half a mind to punch some sense into him, but if the kid actually _felt_ like he was in mourning, that'd be a pretty shitty thing to do. Sighing, he scratched his head and decided he should try using his words instead. "Look, aren't you a little young to be giving up on your future already? You're, what, maybe sixteen? About my age?"

The boy stared at him for a moment before nodding mutely.

"Then you've still got your whole life ahead of you, right? Who are you to say you've already accepted mediocrity?" Kuzuryu turned to directly face the taller boy, jabbing a finger squarely in the center of his damp necktie. "If all you do from now on is coast along on 'name recognition' or whatever, then you only have yourself to blame for not doing more to rise above that on your own."

The boy chuckled wryly. "Funny to hear that from the Kuzuryu heir."

Kuzuryu was taken aback for a moment—he still hadn't gotten used to the more widespread recognition his status as a Hope's Peak student gave him—but that was quickly replaced with indignation. "I can say that because _I'm_ in the same boat, all right?" He crossed his arms. "Sure, I've been dealt a pretty good hand to begin with. But I'm gonna make a name for myself with my _own_ power. I'll make it so that no one would _dare_ to suggest I've just been riding coattails." With a grin, he added, "I'm sure there's another way for you to make a name for yourself too, yeah?"

He had meant for the suggestion to be encouraging, but instead Kuzuryu noticed a flicker of a shadow cross the boy's face. "I mean, I guess there—"

He was cut off by the steady purr of a car engine approaching, water cascading over the curb as Kuzuryu's ride pulled to a stop in front of them.

"Shit, that's my ride," he said, somewhat needlessly, as a few men jumped out to hustle him into the car, a black umbrella held overhead to shield him from another soaking. "I gotta get going, but keep what I said in mind, all right?"

The boy was still wearing a complicated expression, but he nodded hesitantly. "Uh... sure."

As he got into the car, Kuzuryu paused, frowning thoughtfully at the man holding an umbrella over him, before snatching it out of his hands and turning back towards the pavilion. "Hey, catch!"

The boy in black barely had time to comprehend the words before fumbling to catch the umbrella tossed his way.

"You can hold on to that for now," Kuzuryu said, rolling down the car window just enough to make himself heard. "Don't bother giving it back until you've made something of yourself, got it?"

For the first time, a ghost of a smile made its way to the boy's face. "All right. You can hold onto my handkerchief until then, too."

Oh, right—Kuzuryu had completely forgotten that he still had that handkerchief gripped in one hand. He made a show of putting it into his breast pocket and patting it, grinning. "It's a promise, then. And I'll have you know I always make good on my promises."

The boy laughed, then stepped out from under the pavilion, umbrella held above his head. "Also, um... thanks. For the umbrella, and for... just, thanks."

As the car pulled away, the window rolled back up, Kuzuryu sat back, unable to keep the grin from pulling at the corners of his lips.

He couldn't remember the last time he was in such a good mood going into a turf war.

* * *

It wasn't until more than a month later, when Natsumi transferred into Hope's Peak, that Kuzuryu realized the boy from that rainy day probably _hadn't_ been wearing mofuku.

The black suit and tie was the Reserve Course uniform.

Kuzuryu couldn't help but laugh humorlessly at the revelation. He had known that the Hope's Peak administration was pretty corrupt—it took one to know one, after all. But you had to be a special kind of sick bastard to dress your second-tier students as if they were attending a fucking funeral on a daily basis. No wonder that kid had been such a downer at first.

He'd be fine, though. Kuzuryu had a pretty good feeling that that kid would turn out all right. He'd become someone he could be proud of.

After all, they had made a promise.

* * *

**Notes:** *casually rejects the unfounded fanon idea that everyone is 17 upon entering Hope's Peak*

yes Hinata's handkerchief is the same pattern as his underwear because I'm unoriginal trash


	2. Epilogue

**Notes:** Surprise epilogue! Happy Reiwa!

(DR3 spoilers within.)

* * *

The atmosphere on the ship as they departed the Future Foundation's maritime facility was overall one of celebration, though there was definitely also an undercurrent of exhaustion and resignment. They were finally all reunited, but playing the villains to save face for the Future Foundation meant that all they had done to atone would have to go unseen. In terms of public opinion, they were starting back at square one.

But at least they were all together, heading towards their new future.

As the impromptu barbeque winded down, Kuzuryu relaxed with Peko, leaning against the bridge exterior to watch the darkening waves disappearing into the horizon. It sounded like Mioda was trying to revitalize the party by setting up a concert on the bow, and several others were trying to put a stop to it, and Kuzuryu had no interest in getting in the middle of that.

"Hey, uh... Kuzuryu?"

The yakuza blinked in surprise as Hinata stepped into his line of vision, waving apprehensively. "What, you're not over there?" He jerked his head in the direction of the bow. "You sure you wanna let that situation go?"

Hinata chuckled nervously. "I think Koizumi and the Imposter have a pretty good handle on it. Actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you for a second. Um, alone," he added, looking over to Peko, "if you don't mind?"

Peko stared at him for a moment before nodding. "Of course."

"Right, thanks." He grinned down at Kuzuryu. "So, uh, could you come to the bridge with me real quick?"

Wordlessly, Kuzuryu followed the taller man into the bridge of the ship, eyes narrowing curiously when Hinata snatched up something from a chair. "What's that?" he asked bluntly.

"That? Oh, uh..." Hinata turned around, obviously holding whatever it was behind his back. He looked a bit uncertain, but he cleared his throat and continued. "Well, see... I wasn't sure what would be the right timing to do this, but now that we have everyone back, Mitarai included, I think... I think I can finally say that I've made something of myself, so..." From behind his back, Hinata produced a black collapsible umbrella. "Here. The umbrella that I owe you."

"Oh." That... definitely wasn't what Kuzuryu expected. It was so unexpected, in fact, that it took a few seconds for him to remember _why_ Hinata would be giving him an umbrella. Feeling some unnamed emotion welling up in his chest, Kuzuryu extended his arms and accepted it. "Yeah, right. Uh... thanks."

"Yeah." Apparently sensing that an awkward silence was beginning to fall between them, Hinata started to fill that silence as best he could. "Um, I mean, that's not actually the original umbrella, but it just seemed right to, you know—"

"Wait." Kuzuryu frowned, peering up at Hinata skeptically. "What do you mean this isn't the original umbrella?"

"I mean, I kind of..." Hinata gestured vaguely. "I don't... know what happened to the one you gave me. I think I lost it."

"You _lost_ it? What the hell, Hinata! That was a promise between men!"

"I didn't— Kamukura wouldn't have known what the umbrella meant! And even if he did, it probably would have gotten destroyed in the..." Hinata ran a hand through his hair. "Look, it's not like you still have my handkerchief either, right?"

Kuzuryu gripped the umbrella tightly as he felt his face grow warm. "Wh— n-no! Of course I— Wh-why would I still have that dumb handkerchief?!"

"Exactly! It's not like I'm expecting you to give _that_ back! So you have no room to talk, right?"

The folded ribs of the umbrella cut into Kuzuryu's palms as he gripped it even tighter. "Just... f-fuck you, Hinata!"

"Wha— why?"

"Because _fuck you_!"

"_Why?!_"

Even through his embarrassment, Kuzuryu knew that Hinata wasn't technically wrong; very few of their personal belongings had survived the tragedy, either destroyed or forgotten in the throes of despair. Kuzuryu had put what little he had left in a lacquered stationery box now kept in his cabin on the ship.

But at the very bottom of that lacquer box, frayed and bloodstained, laid a certain blue handkerchief that had managed to survive the years.


End file.
